


Juxtapose

by Adara_Rose



Series: the x-rated collection [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, More angst, Shame, Shameless Smut, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1496557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adara_Rose/pseuds/Adara_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...And he felt like a whore and he felt like an angel and he felt used and he felt treasured. And he didn't care."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Juxtapose

"Lucius…" the other man breathed in his ear, making him tremble. He pushed him away.

"No." But he persisted; wrapping his arms tight around the blond and running his tongue over the shell of a delicate ear. Lucius tried to repress the shudder, but failed. The man laughed; a low, throaty sound. It made shivers run down his spine. "Look at me, Lucius…"

"No!" he pushed him away, violently, and tried to straighten his clothing. "I said no. Leave me alone."

"you don't mean that, Lu-ciuss" he drew out the name, letting the last part become a hiss. Lucius loved the way this man made his name sound; it was smooth, seducing, tempting and bewitching. Almost like liquid sex. But he wasn't going to give in. Not again. He had given in so many times.

"I'm married." he bit out. But the man only laughed.

"To a frigid bitch, my dear Lucius. A woman who took you for your money and your name. Tell me; is she as useless in bed as she is pretty to look at?" He turned a furious gaze at the other.

"Do not speak like that of my son's mother!" he hissed.

"Interesting... You refer to her as your son's mother, not your wife." the man's laughter was mocking. "For that is all she is, is she not – your son's mother. And your bed is cold and your nights are lonely and your body…" teeth scraped the tender skin just below his chin, making him moan "…is as empty as your bed."

"Stop. Please." It was humiliating to beg like this, but this man always made him feel so vulnerable. So needy, so desperate. He  _hated_ that feeling. But not as much as he loved what came from it; his lover would humiliate him in ways he knew would make him ache with shame when he came home, early in the morning, but ache even more with longing to do it again.

Therefore he did not protest when his clothes fell to the floor and he was laid on the bed, trembling before his lover like a virgin bride on her wedding night. This was ridiculous, since he was far from innocent.

That devilish mouth painted a wet track up the inside of his thigh, and he moaned hoarsely.

"…Don't…" but they both knew he didn't mean it. His mouth might be saying no, but every other part of his being was screaming yes. And his thighs parted in invitation and he made a sound almost akin to a sob at the burn as the other man sank deep into his barely prepared body. It hurt, but oh, such delicious pain.

His face burned in humiliation, as his lover's clothed body covered his own, expensive fabric pressing against nude flesh. It made him feel even more vulnerable, even more exposed, to have his lover still mostly clothed as he rode between thighs that welcomed him even as the mouth belonging to the same body begged him to stop.

They both knew he didn't mean it.

By the time his lover pulled him up on all fours, taking him from behind like an animal, pulling roughly at his long hair with every brutal thrust that made his body rock with the force, he was still begging – but for more, harder, faster. And then he was screaming, and coming, and  _god,_ he couldn't stand it. It hurt so much. It hurt so wonderfully. Both his body… and his soul.

And he made no protest as he was, again, rolled on to his back, merely wrapped his legs around his lover's waist. The other's clothes had fallen to the floor, lying in a tangled heap next to his, as their limbs tangled with each other, their bodies meeting and moving together.

And he gazed into dark eyes glazed over with lust and pretended it was love. And he moaned. And he begged, and he screamed in ecstasy, his cries matching his lovers. Oh, it was beautiful.

They rolled over, again, Lucius now straddling the other man, riding him with a frantic need that would have made him flush with shame if he was not so lost in the pleasure this act gave him. His back arched into an almost painful bow as his lovers cock slammed against his sweet spot, again and again and again. And stars were going off behind his eyes and his body trembled and shook and it hurt and it was exquisite.

And his lover's hands were gripping his rapidly moving hips so hard he knew he'd be having finger-shaped bruises there for days, and it turned him on even more if that was possible. And his lover was sitting up and devouring his mouth and he raked his nails down his back and they were coming together in pleasure that was more pain and he was screaming his lover's name and it was…

Oh, the world was ending and being renewed and he felt as if he was dying and being born. And he felt like a whore and he felt like an angel and he felt used and he felt treasured. And he thought he was going mad and then it was over and they were lying there, trembling, as close as they could get without actually still being joined and he knew he looked a mess, covered in come and sweat and his hair tussled and his skin flushed and he could feel the bruises forming on his skin and he didn't care.

And he looked at the man lying beside him and knew he loved him. That there was nothing he would not do for him, even humiliating himself like this. He wanted to say it. To scream out, "I'll be your whore, I'll be your toy, use me as you will and throw me away when you are done – if you love me, oh if you love me, I will be anything you want."

But his pride would not allow it. He was a pureblood, an aristocrat, and he did not humiliate himself by begging. Especially not a man who'd just fucked him so hard he would be walking bow-legged for several days. Because it was just sex. Granted, it was the best sex he'd ever had and, most likely, would ever have – but still, their… relationship… was only carnal. He sat up slowly, trying not to wince at the soreness of his body.

"What are you doing?" the man still sprawled amongst the rumpled sheets frowned at him.

"What does it look like? I'm leaving." He pulled on his underwear, realizing a little belatedly that they were going to be stained by bodily fluids before he got his trousers on, but kept dressing. He wanted out of there. Preferably before he did something stupid. Like blurt out "I love you". A hand on his arm stopped him cold.

"Lucius." He did his best not to turn around.

"What." Arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back towards the bed. Clever fingers undid the button in his trousers, tugging them down his thighs.

"Stay…" he tried to resist, by Merlin he tried, but he was too weak. Nothing mattered in this room; not his family, not his wife's dinner party (which he was already thoroughly late for), not his pride, not his good name, nothing.

Nothing but the man kissing his neck, nibbling at his earlobe, sliding in between thighs already parted in invitation. And he closed his eyes and pretended. He pretended that this was more than fantastic sex. That the man sliding into his aching body, pressing him down into sweat-soaked sheets, wanted him for more than a few hours behind closed doors.

He sighed his lover's name, like a prayer. Like a plea. Or a sob.  _Don't hurt me. Please, don't hurt me anymore._

"…Severus…"


End file.
